


i hate you (it's unconditional like my love)

by mido



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 07:25:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2984648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mido/pseuds/mido
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oikawa is two-faced, in a way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i hate you (it's unconditional like my love)

**Author's Note:**

> cross posted to my [tumblr](http://shirosly.tumblr.com).

Oikawa is two-faced, in a way. Iwaizumi had found himself frightened the first time the brunet curled his hands into fists and dug his fingernails into his palms while simultaneously leaving a carefree smile to dance across his features. He’d deemed it an expression he hoped he’d never have to see again, and made it his personal duty to make sure _no one_ would ever have to witness it in the first place, but after years spent at the other’s side he’d concluded it to be a coping mechanism of sorts. Inferiority doesn’t suit Oikawa well, Iwaizumi had noticed – he was quick to berate himself over trivial things that he usually had no control over, then when confronted about it hide behind a grin made embarrassed for show and that ugly personality of his. Iwaizumi had translated his emotions toward the other into hatred at a young age. It was easy to hate Oikawa; his smugness about his popularity, his need to drive himself past his limits to prove he was the best, his unattractive actions made because of a simple loss, and his raging anger that he kept kindled inside himself until a second chance was presented to him. It was a part of life, hating Oikawa; one not particularly pondered upon by Iwaizumi, one left to sit aside and subconsciously fester as time passed.

Of course, like all emotions, Iwaizumi’s hatred didn’t bother to stay in its initial state. It twisted in on itself, grossly recycling into a foul ball of negativity. Though Iwaizumi’s aware of his feelings of resentment growing, it slips his mind in favor of stepping up and dragging Oikawa out of his self-centered universe and back to reality. A bop on the head, knee to the stomach, fist to the bicep; Iwaizumi doesn’t mind dishing out bruises as long as the brunet ends up understanding his motives and learning.

It becomes routine. They’re only in their first year of middle school, but Oikawa builds his habits upon the foundation of improvement over self-care. Iwaizumi’s stopped counting how many times he’s had to drop by the brunet’s house unannounced at an ungodly hour simply because he knew Oikawa wasn’t asleep yet, and somewhere along the line he’d made it his job to fix that. It was either that or said male had texted him twenty times to come over because he was bored, he didn’t want to watch his favorite movie alone, he’d been having girl troubles, etc. Iwaizumi gets used to Oikawa throwing blankets over their shoulders and whining for Iwaizumi to let him snuggle with him while watching movies about aliens invading Earth or robots becoming self-aware at one in the morning.

While the rest of the world seems to buy Oikawa’s egocentric façade, Iwaizumi notices the former’s confidence wearing thin as their third year of middle school arcs lazily into its latter half. He (and probably the rest of the world) knows for a fact that Oikawa is more skilled than he realizes, but despite the obvious and amazed gazes set on him during every game they’ve ever _played,_ he continues to see himself as an ordinary person with an ordinary skill set. His self-image is only confirmed when Kageyama Tobio is quickly regarded as a prodigy, albeit one obsessed with control and precision. Iwaizumi finds it’s simpler and a lot less difficult to ignore the little self-depreciating comments Oikawa makes offhandedly, but for some vague reason he turns from the facile path garnished with effortlessness set before him in favor of slugging Oikawa in the arm when he gets a little too down, and shoving the fact that _you are amazing_ in Oikawa’s face.

If anyone had asked if Iwaizumi still hated Oikawa at this point in their lives, his answer would’ve been a yes without hesitation. Regardless, he follows said male to Aobajousai, and they work through the seasons at the volleyball club together. Iwaizumi doesn’t realize he’s adopted Oikawa’s habit of putting himself down until their last year. The brunet’s pushing himself harder than ever to synchronize himself with each specific player’s style of spiking, and Iwaizumi wonders if he’s the only one who’s detecting the strain in Oikawa’s voice as he pushes himself to bring out the most potential he can in everyone. He’s noticeably less animated after practice, and Iwaizumi swears he can see the self-hatred hanging in a dense cloud above the brunet’s head as they enter the locker room in silence.

Now, when he slugs him in the arm, it’s no longer him, but the slimy black beast he’s kept down for years.

Oikawa visibly flinches, hand flying up instinctively to cover the spot Iwaizumi knows a bruise is bound to bloom in. His eyes don’t shine with mischief at provoking the latter as they usually do, and his fluffy chocolate hair is limp from his post-practice shower. Iwaizumi takes a cautious step back at the embarrassed grin that spans Oikawa’s features and his nails are digging into his skin, he looks like he’s about to cry, and oh god, _oh god,_ Iwaizumi’s mind is a tornado, unearthing things he thought he’s buried, whipping bullets of realization through his skull, scratching at his common sense and dripping icy hatred into his lungs. Oikawa doesn’t pounce or fight back like Iwaizumi had expected; he just turns away and pulls his shirt over his head and dons his mint and white jacket. Iwaizumi knows the brunet had said something then, before he brushed past him and walked away toward the gym doors, but he can’t seem to recall what.

When Iwaizumi shows up at practice the next day, he is set on clearing things up with Oikawa, on making it absolutely clear that their relationship isn’t going to change and he’s still going to pound it into the brunet’s head that he’s an excellent athlete and a few mistakes aren’t going to change that. He does not expect to round the corner and come across said male engaging in a heated makeout session with a small girl that was likely one of his devoted fans. Iwaizumi freezes for a moment, unable to move his body or his eyes, staring as the two smash their mouths together sloppily and unabashedly. He’s unsure whether to break it up with his usual irritation or to walk away and let it be. He does snap back to reality, however, when the girl cracks open one of her eyes and her gaze shoots immediately to him. His limbs unlock as her eyes shoot open and she pulls away from Oikawa, squealing and hiding her flushed face in her hands. The brunet looks surprised at her actions, then turns his head and surveys the area to see who could’ve interrupted. His gaze just barely catches a head of spiky black hair before Iwaizumi spins around and leaves.

He walks away mechanically and robotic. He reminds himself he doesn’t care. The ball of ugly hatred oozes contentment.

* * *

As their third years swings toward December with frost and discount gift wrap, Iwaizumi drops by Oikawa’s house uninvited, three days after the incident with the Tooru fangirl. The brunet seems happily shocked to see him as he pats the seat on the couch beside him, cupping a mug of cocoa in his hand as he surfs TV channels. Iwaizumi makes himself comfortable as Oikawa leans over and presses his face to Iwaizumi’s muscled shoulder, inhaling and exhaling quietly. “I only did it to make you jealous, Iwa-chan.” He murmurs into the fabric of Iwaizumi’s shirt. The latter ignores him and focuses on the TV screen, not on the feel of Oikawa’s lips only a layer from his skin, not on the damp warmth of Oikawa’s breath puffing onto him. The television dramas scream in delight, as if matching his wavelength.

They end up taking the train to Sendai later, with Oikawa eagerly bundled in a sweater he’d stolen from Iwaizumi ages ago and with said male donning a thick coat lined with tan fleece. The car they board is rather crowded, and Oikawa manages to squeeze Iwaizumi into a seat despite his protests that he doesn’t need one. The brunet just grins comically and tips his feet back and forth rhythmically, tilting his weight from the balls of his feet to his heels and back again while his non-pocketed hand grips the bar above his head. As soon as they get off Oikawa is making a beeline for the cinema he’s forced Iwaizumi to get acquainted with. They’re showing four movies at the moment; a sci-fi film he’s already seen six times, a chick flick Iwaizumi mentions his mother wanted to see, and two action-adventures that, while featuring different casts and titles, look as if their plots are about the same. Oikawa quietly recommends that they should go see the sci-fi one again in an amused tone, but Iwaizumi pinches his ear and decides on the latter action-adventure film for both of them. The brunet pouts at not getting his way, but perks up as soon as the former suggests they go to a café or something of that nature to kill time before the movie starts an hour later. After Oikawa makes a show of swooning over his dear Iwa-chan proposing they go on a _date_ (then whining about his head hurting after dear Iwa-chan delivers a blow to his cranium), he glances around and settles on tugging Iwaizumi into a department store with him.

They dawdle around the various racks of different styles of shirts and jackets for a while, but when Oikawa gingerly starts loitering around the edges of the beauty department Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and pulls the other in. The brunet is much more animated roaming the aisles lined with lipstick and mascara than he was the ones filled to the brim with every color top you could imagine. Iwaizumi totally doesn’t archive that bit of information for later reference, and he totally doesn’t admire how much happier Oikawa looks knowing Iwaizumi doesn’t mind what he shops for. “Iwa-chan!” He calls, waving him over energetically to the mirror adorned with samples he’s standing by. Iwaizumi groans exaggeratedly, but all in all he doesn’t mind. “What is it?”

Oikawa points to the five lipstick tubes lined up beside the eyeshadow palates, his lips pulled to one side in an undecided look. “Which one do you think looks best on me?” He asks, batting his eyelashes at Iwaizumi. The latter rolls his eyes, saying, “And how am I supposed to know that if I haven’t seen anything?” He blows a raspberry Oikawa’s way. “Pick one.”

“But Iwa-chaaaaaan!” Oikawa whines, grabbing two of the lipsticks in one hand. “Here, I’ll show you!”

He uncaps one with a hot pink dot on the top, swiping it on the inside of his wrist. He repeats this with the other four, which turn out to be a shimmery copper, a dark red-maroon, a nude-toned color, and a sparkly bright pink. Iwaizumi actually considers what Oikawa would look like wearing each of them while said male puckers his lips and holds up the tubes beside them laughably. Iwaizumi flushes and turns his head away, muttering, “The maroon.”

Oikawa’s smile is almost blinding as he caps up the sample tubes. He lines them up by the mirror again, grabbing an unused tube of the dark red lipstick from the shelves beneath the samples. “Okay!” He exclaims. “Now…”

* * *

They end up killing quite enough time until the movie, so much that they miss the film entirely. Iwaizumi stuffs his hands in his pockets, a bit bitter over having gotten caught up in Oikawa’s shopping escapade, but somehow he decides that getting to see yet another side of the brunet beats a movie neither of them cared about in the first place. After roaming the streets in search of a place to take refuge from the cold, Oikawa suggests taking Iwaizumi’s idea from earlier to heart. They bustle past an American couple bundled in flashy coats and boots, likely tourists, into a café tucked between a bookstore and a place selling tiny fish. They take seats in a booth by the window, one adjacent to the sidewalk they were out on just seconds ago. “Welcome!” One of the waitresses greets them with a sunny smile, her long brown hair braided and hanging over her shoulder. Oikawa’s face immediately takes on the façade Iwaizumi avoids when he can, but at the moment it seems it’s inescapable. He orders a black coffee while he can, then gives way to Oikawa’s flirty chatter with the waitress. At some point Iwaizumi thinks he hears the brunet ordering hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon, and he definitely doesn’t tuck that bit of knowledge away either.

As they sip their drinks and make casual banter (which eventually dissipates into comfortable silence), Iwaizumi feels conflicted, almost. He doesn’t understand why he even went to Oikawa’s house in the first place, let alone went shopping with him in Sendai. He figures the brunet is just glad to have someone he can drag along with him, but he wants to believe that Oikawa was just as glad to sweep the fangirl incident under the rug. He doesn’t let himself think that for a second, though; while Iwaizumi can point out the (very few, in his opinion) appealing traits of Oikawa, he doesn’t think the latter actually has enough compassion to care that much about one person, no matter how much he may show. The brunet only acts according to what’s convenient, Iwaizumi knows. He refuses to let himself think otherwise.

“Iwa-chan, your face is doing that thing again.” Oikawa snaps him out of his trance with an offhand comment. Iwaizumi scrunches up his nose and narrows his eyes. “What?”

“That thing!” Oikawa points straight at him, sticking his finger in Iwaizumi’s face with a sly grin. The former pulls his hand back and squishes his cheeks, making a duck face while furrowing his brows and scrunching up his nose. “It looks like this!”

Iwaizumi’s eyebrows shoot downwards into a scowl, and he reaches across the table to bring his fist down on Oikawa’s head. “Oww, Iwa-chan!” The latter whines. “I’ll pour your cocoa down your shirt, Assikawa.” He grumbles, withdrawing his hand.

Oikawa drinks slowly (probably on purpose, the shit, Iwaizumi thinks), but eventually they pay their bill and head back outside into the cold. While Iwaizumi has braced himself for a blast of frigid air, he didn’t expect a face-full of snowflakes as soon as he exited the café. “Look, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa’s face lights up at his realization. “It’s snowing!”

“No shit, Trashikawa.” Iwaizumi mutters, pulling his coat closer to himself in an attempt to retain some of the heat he’d gathered inside. “Let’s head back.”

“But Iwa-chaaaaan, let’s stay out here in the snow!”

A slug to the arm gets Oikawa to shut up. “We’re going back; I’m fucking freezing out here.” Iwaizumi says, pulling the brunet towards the train station. “Fine, fine, but we’re going to your house!” Oikawa decides, looking triumphant. Iwaizumi doesn’t bother arguing, just punctuating the other’s statement with a “Whatever.”

The ride back is fairly uninteresting, and this time it’s Oikawa sitting and Iwaizumi hanging onto the ceiling rail. The latter watches as the brunet gazes out the window beside him, eyes glazing over as the scenery flashes by. It’s in these moments that Iwaizumi finds something warm and uncomfortable gripping his chest, pulling at him so irritatingly that he almost punches Oikawa again out of habit. He’s not quite sure when his hatred dissolved into something less offending; maybe it’s just plain resentment now, or a desire to keep their friendship alive and kicking? Iwaizumi’s not sure – he refuses to get close to a lot of people out of spite and the simple fact that he’s not amazing at keeping friends. The volleyball club doesn’t mind the mess-ups he makes at times; they’ve been stuck with him long enough to get to know his rather obvious faults, but they never make problems out of them. It’s something Iwaizumi’s grateful for, and when he really thinks about it, pulling away some of the lies he tells himself, he’s grateful for Oikawa, too.

* * *

Oikawa almost dozes off before they get off the train, and Iwaizumi shakes his shoulder to regain his consciousness as their stop comes up. “Hey.” He says, nudging him. “Don’t fall asleep before we get to my house.”

“Mmm.” Oikawa responds, nuzzling into Iwaizumi’s hand. “’Kay.”

Iwaizumi shakes his shoulder one more time before letting go as the doors open. “C’mon, let’s go.” He mutters, flicking the brunet’s forehead and heading towards the exit. Oikawa lets out a muffled cry to wait and fumbles after him, barely making it off the train before the doors close. Iwaizumi blows a raspberry his way after waiting for a few seconds, then begin the walk back. At some point Oikawa slings his arm around Iwaizumi’s shoulders, complaining about how he’s too tired to walk back on his own. “Iwa-chaaan.” He wails, tugging at said males sleeve. “Carry me.”

Iwaizumi’s cheeks heat up, but a rub at his face relieves the red undertones. “Carry yourself, trashy Oikawa.”

“Iwa-chan.”

“No.”

“Iwa-chaaan.”

“No.”

“Iwa-chan!”

“Jesus.” Iwaizumi groans, then shuffles in front of Oikawa and bends his knees. “Get on.” He mutters, embarrassed to be standing like this in public.

He can practically feel Oikawa’s face light up as the latter scurries over and climbs on his back. Iwaizumi has to take a moment to compose himself for a moment (after all, Oikawa is taller and indeed has muscle), then draws himself upright and starts walking. They get a couple stares from people walking down the street, but Iwaizumi tries to ignore them and ends up realizing that Oikawa’s fallen asleep on his back at some point. He can feel the warmth of the other’s cheek against his neck, even breaths warming the bit of skin he has exposed there. “Asshole.” He mutters under his breath. “Making me carry him home just so he can sleep. Trash.”

Iwaizumi’s grateful that they reach his house quickly; while he has put on a substantial amount of muscle himself, he can only support the other male for so long. “Hey.” He says, shaking his hands to rouse the brunet. “We’re here. Get off me.”

“But Iwa-chan, you’re so comfy!” Oikawa murmurs into his back, clearly still half asleep. He nuzzles into the collar of Iwaizumi’s coat. “Five more minutes.”

“Go sleep on the couch or some shit; I’m tired of carrying you.” Iwaizumi grumbles, hauling the other to the living room and depositing him on the couch. Oikawa makes a muffled sound of protest, mumbling “I wanna sleep in your bed.”

Iwaizumi groans and hangs his head, then straightens up and starts heading towards his room. Oikawa whines for him to carry him up there too, but Iwaizumi declines. “You’ll have to get up yourself if you want a bed to sleep in, Trashikawa.” He says as he climbs the stairs. He opens the door to his room, nudging aside a few stray sweaters and other pieces of clothing, then collapses on his bed. Lugging Oikawa all the way here did take a bit of a toll on his stamina. He rolls over at the sound of the door opening and catches the brunet’s sleepy gaze as he lumbers over to where Iwaizumi’s laying. “Scoot over.” He elbows the latter over a bit, making space for himself to lay down. Iwaizumi sits up and pulls a knit blanket over them as Oikawa flips himself so his back is facing Iwaizumi. “Spoon me.” He commands. “Okay, okay.” Iwaizumi relents, yawning. He throws an arm over Oikawa’s torso, pulling him the slightest bit closer as he lies back down.

A few minutes of silence pass, and Iwaizumi is sure Oikawa has gone to sleep until he hears a quiet “Iwa-chan?”

“What is it, Assikawa?” He answers in an equally low tone.

“If I asked you out, would you say yes?”

That wakes him up a bit more. “Why would you wanna date me?”

This prompts a snicker from Oikawa. “Uh, no offense, Iwa-chan, but have you looked in a mirror? You’re pretty hot.”

“Says the one with a fanclub tailing him 24/7.”

Oikawa giggles and rolls over to face Iwaizumi. “So?” He asks, waiting for a solid answer.

The latter sighs, face heating up subtly (he hopes). “You haven’t even kissed me yet.”

Oikawa puffs his cheeks up in a pout. “Okay, fine.” He says, leaning forward and pressing his lips against Iwaizumi’s. They stay there, unmoving, for only a few seconds, but somehow it manages to take Iwaizumi’s breath away. He inhales sharply and wonders what the likelihood is that Oikawa didn’t hear that. “Is that good enough?” Said male prompts, his eyes triumphant. Iwaizumi rolls his own, grabbing Oikawa’s collar and pulling him in for another. “Yeah.” He mutters onto the other’s lips. “Yeah, that’s good enough. Tooru.”

Oikawa’s first name slips out before he can stop himself, and he finds himself flushing more noticeably this time as the brunet’s lips turn up at the corners into a victorious smile. “I hope so, Ha-ji-me.” He pronounces each syllable on its own, drawing out the embarrassment of their now first-name basis. “Shut _up.”_ Iwaizumi groans, throwing a hand over his face to hide his pink-tinted cheeks. Oikawa just giggles in response, and Iwaizumi kicks him beneath the covers.

If anyone had asked if Iwaizumi still hated Oikawa at this point in their lives, his answer would’ve been a yes without hesitation. But after watching him watch Oikawa for a while, that someone’d realize that Iwaizumi was definitely lying.

**Author's Note:**

> who didnt hav wifi all day? the author. who didnt do anything to help the economy and instead wrote this? the author.
> 
> i say it was worth it ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> also i rly like femme oikawa, lmaooo...


End file.
